Something Better
by NorthernTrash-x
Summary: Tsume/Toboe. He'd only ever seen heaven through the shutters of other people's lives until now.


Christmas one-shot #2

Tsume x Toboe

**Something Better**

_So I'm going home, back to the place where I belong,  
And where your love has always been enough for me.  
I'm not running from, no, I think you got me all wrong.  
I don't regret this life I chose for me.  
_- Chris Daughtry

There were different kinds of heavens, different types of euphoria that you could find in different places.

A photographer could see it through the lens of his camera when he takes the picture that could make his career. He sees it in the shapes and patterns of the world in the little square of picture. Some can find it in the sky, in the bright blues that look so pure you forget everything bad that happens beneath them, or in the heady greys that make the world feel smaller, or in the darkness at night when they can stand under the cover of it and feel like there is nothing else left.

A scientist can see it under the microscope, can see the whorls and lines on a leaf that link together to make a miracle. He sees his own perfection in the tiny microbes and cells when he magnifies yet further, in the simple beauty of the building blocks of life, in the meaning they find when they pick it all apart. Some people find it when they have children, when they realise that those little things that they were made up of have made another person to be cherished and nourished.

An artist can find it in the end of a paintbrush, in the swirl of colour that will soon make its mark, on the blankness of an untouched canvas, in the soft lines of charcoal that work to make his vision complete, that are put together to make something beautiful. A sculptor can find it in the curves and folds of a woman sitting on a bench, and will replicate in the subtle coolness of white marble, finding euphoria in the carved shapes and simple blankness of the rock.

Some can find it in a feeling, in the feel of something under their skin, like a fabric under their fingers, or velvety hair brushing across the back of their hand. They can close their eyes and surrender to the sensation, and see the paradise of it there. A designer can find it in the line of a dress, in the colour of a fabric, in the shape and the way a piece of clothing falls over a body. They can see it in the contrast of colour against skin, in the flattery or the modesty of a cut or hem.

A poet can find it in the rhyme of two words, they way a pair of lines can fit so perfectly together, and their wonder at how a scramble of words put together at random can come out with something so poignant, so meaningful. They see heaven as they write their feelings in sloping black ink across their lives. Some can find it in the stars, in the simple distance there is between us and them, in the security that they will be there every time you look up. Even if you can't see them, they are always there, burning through thousands of years. People can see heaven in their consistency, the one thing that will be there so long after we're all gone.

Some can find it in a particular smell, in the way that some perforate the area or the way some slip their way subtly into the conscious. They can serve as a reminder, a catalyst, can give out joy and passion in the just the passing of a breeze. Some could find it in a taste, in the memories it provokes or the feelings it reminds you of. The taste of a food they had once, long ago, in happier times, or the promise that comes with the taste of warm skin under your mouth.

But those types of heaven, he knew, were not for him.

Some can find it in each other. They find it looking into the eyes of someone special, in the feel of soft skin under their hands, in the warmth that builds within you, in the soft sighs in the middle of the night, in the sound of the others voice, in the hours spent together.

Hige found his is Blue, that much was certain. You could see it when his muzzle pressed against hers, in the way that they looked out for each other at every opportunity. The way that just the scent of the other was enough to comfort them, in the way they pressed close, as if to absorb each other. It felt wrong to look at them, like he was spying on a certain piece of heaven that was meant for no one else. If felt sacrilegious, some how. That paradise was not for him.

Kiba found his in Cheza, that much was obvious. The longing that never left his eyes, the comfort she searched for, twining her fingers into his fur. The way they would stare at each other, lost in each other and the little world that existed only for the two, lingering even when they were thinking of something else. The haunted way he would stare bleakly when they were separated, the love that was almost tangible when they were together. That piece of euphoria was not for him, either, and he knew it as he averted his eyes.

Yes, everyone had their own heaven, except, it seemed, him.

They all had things that made them feel complete, made them feel like there was something left to carry on for. But when he looked at the sky, all he saw was the clouds, and when he looked at the stars, all he saw was emptiness. When he looked at a leaf, all he saw was something that would die so very quickly. When he smelt something, he simply assessed it for danger, and when he tasted something, he just knew it was keeping him alive. Colours were of no use to him, neither was art or music or lyric. It all made little difference to him.

Some can find their heaven in belief, in the truth that they feel and the reasons they know must be true. They see it when they stare into nothing and know without a doubt that at the end of it all, everything will work out okay, because if it didn't, then what would be the point? They couldn't have fought for so long for nothing, so there must be something better.

He couldn't, for a long time, understand this, either. He didn't believe in a future, and he didn't believe that everything would be alright.

The only time he ever felt even slightly like it would was when he looked down at a smaller wolf, who stared back at him with a compassion he couldn't understand, with a trust that he couldn't place, with an affection that he didn't recognize.

When he looked into the little wolfs eyes, he saw what he thought Hige must see in Blue's, or Kiba must see in Cheza's.

When Tsume looked into Toboe's eyes, he felt like he had come home.

And it was then that he felt like he too could have a little slice of euphoria, and little taste of a heaven that he had only seen through the shutters of other people and their relationships.

So when Toboe pressed close to him whilst they were sleeping, most of the time Tsume let him, and not just so they could sleep easier in the harsh cold, but because it felt nice to share it with him. He liked the feel of his fur against his, and he liked the way Toboe would lay his head over Tsume's paws. He _liked_ resting his head on top of Toboe's, even if he would never admit it.

So even if he couldn't find heaven in the conventional places, he knew, as he kneeled in the snow next to Toboe's body, that he'd found it, even if it had taken him longer than it should have. He had found his little piece of heaven, and he had found it in brown eyes and unscarred fur, and he didn't have to shield his eyes from this love, because it was theirs, and theirs alone.

And he realised, as they both grew colder in the snow, that he had found something to believe in too. So he'd cried a little, and kissed him quickly, before he ran to catch up with the others, because he knew now that he had to reach paradise. He knew, no, he believed, that he had to get to paradise, because now he believed, like Kiba, that it existed, and he believed he had to get there.

He had to get there now, and he was going to give everything he had to try and get it open.

He believed that there was a future.

That there was a heaven.

And that he and Toboe would be in it.

Together.


End file.
